


Bibilophilia

by medical_mechanica



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Anal Sex, Ardyn Knows Latin, Ardyn Recites Poetry, Books, Consensual Sex, Light BDSM, Literary References & Allusions, Literature, M/M, Prompto is a Hole in National Security, Prompto is a Secret Lore Nerd, Recitation Kink, Time Stitch, Whatever Kink Breaking into a Library Is, pre-game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-14 00:35:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12995961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/medical_mechanica/pseuds/medical_mechanica
Summary: The aged book binding hit the solid table with a thud, parchment pages slipping open under their own weight. Prompto Argentum stood behind the sizable reading table, fingertips gingerly running across the tome’s edges. Next to him towered the most interesting guest to the Citadel Library the junior librarian had ever seen, some historian that went by the name ‘Ardyn’.“You have my gratitude,” his guest offered flatly with a gentle grip on the blond’s shoulder, gaze only on the collection of scrolls and texts before him. Coral blue and gold beams of light streamed through the sizable window behind them, scattered across the scene. The wannabe photographer imagined the photo he would take of the way it caught the man’s cheekbones and hair. Prompto tried to hold in his curiosity about the presumed historian and his research and proceeded to exit.“You may place a plaque outside this door,” Ardyn began, more to himself than not, “and have it read ‘Abandon All Hope, Ye Who Enter Here.’”At this, Prompto couldn’t help but let out a laugh as the door lock disengaged.“Oh? And what is so funny about that?” the vibrato behind him inquired. Prompto cringed, his cover blown.





	1. I.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [invisibledeity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/invisibledeity/gifts).



> Written for a prompt by invisibledeity.
> 
> Original Prompt: Prompto is a librarian and a secret lore nerd. Ardyn is looking for ancient Solheim lit, and finds pleasant company.
> 
> This is a very literary heavy fic with a lot of references to actual works in the Western canon. There are 15 literary references in total, with one or two pop culture references thrown in too. I'm not posting which yet, but will if requested. It's split into two parts. The second part is NSFW. Thank you Nev, for helping me with the ending. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it.

The aged book binding hit the solid table with a thud, parchment pages slipping open under their own weight. Prompto Argentum stood behind the sizable reading table, fingertips gingerly running across the tome’s edges. Next to him towered the most interesting guest to the Citadel Library the junior librarian had ever seen, some historian that went by the name ‘Ardyn’.

“You have my gratitude,” his guest offered flatly with a gentle grip on the blond’s shoulder, gaze only on the collection of scrolls and texts before him. Coral blue and gold beams of light streamed through the sizable window behind them, scattered across the scene. The wannabe photographer imagined the photo he would take of the way it caught the man’s cheekbones and hair. Prompto tried to hold in his curiosity about the presumed historian and his research and proceeded to exit.

“You may place a plaque outside this door,” Ardyn began, more to himself than not, “and have it read ‘Abandon All Hope, Ye Who Enter Here.’”

At this, Prompto couldn’t help but let out a laugh as the door lock disengaged. 

“Oh? And what is so funny about that?” the vibrato behind him inquired. Prompto cringed, his cover blown.

-

It had been a dead day at the library. Prompto was reorganizing the photobooks, yet again. After languidly staring at his favorite architecture photography book, he moved to place it back on the bottom self. It was then suddenly the towering form of a visitor caught him off guard, knocking him out of his crouched position and smack into a nearby stack. Maybe he had been listening to his headphones instead of paying attention, but there wasn't a soul to be seen a after Prompto clocked in late to work. The man standing before him was definitely tall, and could have been handsome if he wasn’t wearing a stupid hat. A heavy beat and tinny treble came through his earbuds, and it was all the more reason for his face to warm into a blush as he looked up from the floor. To make matters worse, the figure above him was elaborately dressed enough to make Prompto think he was either auditioning for a play or some kind of out of state dignitary.

“My sincerest apologies, I didn’t expect to startle you so,” the visitor began, and the junior librarian noted how the man’s mouth moved to annunciate. After a beat, the man offered out a hand. Prompto took it, realizing quickly that even at his full height, the other had far more on him. 

“No worries! I guess I uh, didn’t see you walk over. Uh, can I help you?” the blond straightened as much as he could, kicking out and knocking into the remaining pile of photo books at his feet. Groaning a little, he dipped back down to collect the scattered pile. The taller man smiled, eyes narrowing, bending down and moving to assist him. Again, Prompto’s cheeks warmed. He realized the music on his earbuds was still playing. Finally pausing the music, he realized how the library was almost eerily silent. After managing to undue most of the damage he caused, he turned back to the taller man, who patiently passed him the remainder of the books. Once finished, they stood. 

The taller man tutted then, suddenly remembering something. He reached into one of what the blond assumed was many pockets in his coat, and not for the first time during their brief encounter did Prompto let his mind wander to what the form beneath all of those layers could look like. If he only weren’t wearing that ugly hat.

 

After having been flashed a very impressive looking ID listing the man as a council member of the Royal Historical Art Society, Prompto was given a request to see the Citadel’s collection of texts that dated back to antiquity. At this, his interest in their high ranking visitor was piqued. 

This lead them to the front desk, surprisingly vacant, if not for a sign that read ‘back in 5’. It wasn’t like his supervisor to be away from the front desk, but it didn’t seem to matter when no one else had been there all day. Prompto grabbed the crystal-imbued keycard, where it was still tucked away with the rest of the keys to the library in the recesses of the desk. Their guest had the air of someone high profile, and Prompto briefly considered if they had cleared the section of the Citadel for some security reason. He shrugged it off, and they made their way down the length of the library toward the back.

High gothic arches stretched above them; deep walnut buttresses above were dimly illuminated by soft tungsten light despite the washed out soft white light coming from the massive windows on either side. The library was a section of the Citadel that was once a cathedral dedicated to the Draconian, built during the reign of The Just, and renovated into a private library during the reign of The Fierce, and finally made Insomnia’s central library some 50 years prior. Prompto would have normally have given this speech to most of their visitors, but the subdued expression on the historian’s face somehow tipped him off to keeping it to himself.

Although he was loath to admit it, the blond was a total mythology nerd. When he had been adopted, his parents had given him a picture book of a story out of the Cosmogony, and he had never looked back. He had read every edition of Lucius’ oldest recorded poetry and lore he could find, which surprisingly, was harder than you’d think. He had read translated versions of Solheim lit, where he could access them. It wasn’t a passion he mentioned often, if at all. Especially when his best friend’s family was basically living it.

Speaking of access, he would have normally needed some sort of clearance before being allowed into the Old Atheneum, but a part of Prompto couldn’t see the harm in streamlining the process on such a slow day, especially for someone important. Besides that, curiosity gnawed at his gut.

After coming to the front of the cathedral, they slipped to the right, to meet an ornate and heavy door. Despite it’s archaic appearance, there was an electronic pad on the side that Prompto swiped the pass before. Air could be heard equalizing, and the door unlocked. It led into an equally decorated antechamber, nearly as spectacular as the main hall, and recently renovated, but with much lower ceilings. 

There was a noticeable shift in the air as they entered. Time ceased to move, trying to preserve the texts within it indefinitely. Prompto rounded a fairly large familiarly walnut reading table centered in the room, situated with several ornate chairs, dated, with no armrests, and not entirely comfortable looking. On either side of the room sat renovated stacks, narrow, but open, in brushed chrome and black metal. Toward the back of the room past the table was a expertly lit glass case, displaying an impressive collection of aged texts, and towering over the case, a smaller marble statue of The Armoured Pious. Illuminating the statue, was an intricate stained glass window, behind a pane of protective glass, depicting the Crystal wrapped in the protective wings of Bahamut.

Artificial sunlight shone through, painting the room in brilliant shades of royal blue and gold. It was beautiful. Prompto had only been allowed in the room one other time, with his supervisor, and hadn’t been given nearly enough time to appreciate it. 

His guest followed behind him into the room, and the door locked.

Standing next to the glass case, the librarian gestured sheepishly, trying to hide his enthusiasm. “While the third and fourth editions of the Cosmogony and Founder’s Tales can be accessed in the stacks, the remaining tablets and scrolls containing the oldest recorded tales from Solheim that could be recovered from throughout Lucis and Tenebrae live here,” Prompto stated as professionally as possible; his interest broadcasted a sign over his head.

“You probably knew all of that already though, huh?” Prompto gave the back of his head a scratch nervously. The other shot an quick, but affectionate, smile back in return. The highlights from the case and window caught his jawline and eyes just so, and Prompto considered how well the man seemed to fit into their surroundings. When the man’s voice sounded low and delicate in the room, it was nearly enough to make the blond jump again.

“I am looking for the Tale of the Founder, wherein he defeats the Scourgebeast.”

The blond quickly nodded his head in sudden understanding. Just as he sprung to action, an arm came out to halt him. “There is more,” the visitor insisted. The blond blinked upwards, discerning gaze meeting his. The man pursed his lips before speaking. “Fetch me the Hymnals of the Ifurnian.” 

That was not a request Prompto expected to hear. Few knew about them, and less requested them. Supposedly a series of poems collected from across Eos attributed to Solheim preceding, during, and after it’s fall during the Astral War just up to the founding of Lucis. A majority of the works found within its pages were reported to be from collections of scrolls found in distant dungeons, dictated from spoken word, to scratchings found on stone tablets as far out as Accordo. It’s first recorded edition was from some 1000 years prior, and it sat untranslated behind them in the glass case, battered and ancient. The first translation wouldn’t come until 500 years after that, right before Niflheim declared war on Lucis. Although he’d never read the original himself, Prompto had read a reprinting of a 200 year old translation.

Returning to the man’s measured look, the blond blushed. As if it wasn’t obvious.

“That’s one of my favorites,” the junior librarian replied shyly. His guest balked in surprise, “Well, aren’t we fortunate to have crossed paths?” The smile that then graced the man’s face then grew more genuine. Prompto grew redder still. A hand came up to pat him on the shoulder, before it ran down the blond’s spine. It came to rest at the small of his back before gently pushing him forward, and to work. A shiver tripped up the librarian, but he shrugged it off.

It wasn’t long before Prompto returned with the two requested texts. While it wouldn’t have crossed his mind to consider accessing the scrolls within the glass case, he did retrieve the earliest translations he could find otherwise. As he approached the table trying to gently hold what was easily a 500 year old heavy book, he studied the other man, who remained by the case. His gaze bore into the stained glass window behind the statue, but he otherwise looked bored. It was an expression Prompto wasn’t unused to seeing, and he stifled a chuckle recalling the same look on Noctis’ face.

Upon the blond’s return to the table, the man perked up. After having next to heaved the giant tome of hymnals onto the polished surface and running his fingertips around the lesser worn leather cover, Prompto stepped back. 

“You have my gratitude,” his guest offered flatly with a gentle grip on the blond’s shoulder, gaze only on the collection of scrolls and texts before him. 

“No problem!” Prompto replied, before the hand at his shoulder slipped down to his wrist over a very familiar spot.

“What was your name?” the velvety voice inquired, to which the blond replied with a quiet scoff, shyly withdrawing. Why was he being so nice? Important people were never nice to him. Well, except Noctis.

Then the blond recalled the previous week where his best friend napped through a movie he had been dying to see for months. Sometimes important people could be nice to him. The taller man gazed at him, expression still expectant.

“Uh ... Prompto.”

The the man smirked, glint in his eye. “Thank you ”Prompto’”, he repeated back, with striking enunciation. “You may call me Ardyn,” the man followed with.

Coral blue and gold beams of light streamed through the sizable window behind them, scattered across the scene. The wannabe photographer imagined the photo he would take of the way it caught the man’s cheekbones and hair. This got the librarian worse still, and his heart fell loose in his chest. 

Backing away slowly toward the heavy weighted door, Prompto tried to hold in his curiosity about the presumed historian and his research as his guest proceeded to very tiredly tossed his horrible hat, large coat, and gloves into a nearby chair. The blond brightened at the thought that the historian would be there a while. 

Yup. Wine red hair shone much better without that hat.

Just as he started to reach his security pass to the locked door, his guest spoke.

“You may place a plaque outside this door,” Ardyn began, more to himself than not, “and have it read ‘Abandon All Hope, Ye Who Enter Here.’”

At this, Prompto couldn’t help but let out a laugh as the door lock disengaged. 

“Oh? And what is so funny about that?” the vibrato behind him inquired, his cover blown. He cringed, and turned around shamefully.

“Well, not ‘funny’, like... “ Oh gods, “that saying, and well, there this song…” Prompto trailed off, thinking about how the most overused sayings from Antiquity was also a lyric in one of his favorite songs? “Yes?” Ardyn questioned expectantly. Prompto walked back up to the reading table, leaning nervously against the back of a chair. “There’s, like, this ‘heretical’ rapper out of Lestallum, she’s great-” He expected the other to be repelled at the words ‘heretical rapper’ in regards to such ancient texts, but instead the older man only looked more intrigued. “It’s, uh, a rhyme of hers’.”

“Go on,” Ardyn urged, smirk creeping back onto his face.

“Y-you want me to say it?” Prompto blanched.

“I’m waiting.”

That was a first. Casting a glance around the antechamber, ending on the texts before him, Prompto inhaled deeply. He could be such a dork.

“‘Abandon all hope, ye who enter here’ read the inscription, my vision filled slowly with tears.” Prompto steadily rhymed, “Minutes turned into years, the voice of one crying out in the wilderness, ‘this pilgrimage has only begun-”, blush so intense, his ears burned. Ardyn’s eyes narrowed, and he slowly rounded the table. “- People lend me your ears, fill your hearts with fear-” Prompto slowed, peering up at the man as he approached, “ ... make penance, for with vengeance, night draws near.” As he finished, Ardyn came to stand before him.

Once the blond had finished, they blinked at each other in silence for several beats. A low humming tune accompanied that of the magical static hum of the room, coming from his guest, and Prompto couldn’t place it. Just as he felt a complete fool for speaking up, the older man brightened greatly. 

“Would you care to join me?” Ardyn asked, and Prompto could hardly wait to accept.

-

They sat beside each other at the reading table, before the glass case and statute, open pages before them.

Prompto was ecstatic, practically vibrating from excitement. He poured over the aged parchment, illuminated by lamplight. As he had handled them out of storage, he had noted each smelled distinctively different, changing the otherwise still air. He had made it a point to grab a few more after the invitation to stay, opportunity waving at him like a flag. It was better than he could have imagined, despite the sinking nagging feeling prickling at the back of his thoughts.

They were surprisingly visual, old leather dyed brilliant colors, original handwritten translations dating back centuries. Artistic penmanship that the blond was more used to seeing as an option in a drawing app. Running fingertips gently over the parchment, he could feel the uneven organic texture. Prompto got goosebumps. These were the real deal.

The blond could have bounced in his seat.

Ardyn casually leaned on Prompto’s chair, looking over his shoulder.

“Find me a verse regarding the Fall of Ifrit," was the blond’s first cue. It didn’t take nearly as long as either of them expected. Prompto shot a tentative glance back to his companion. Ardyn gave him an urging nod. Swallowing, Prompto took in a breath.

“… Together both, with next to Almighty Arm, uplifted imminent one stroke they aimed that might determine, and not need repeat. As not of power at once; nor odds appeared in might or swift prevention; but the sword of Ultima from the Armory of Bahamut was given him tempered so, that neither keen nor solid might resist that edge.” He took his time with it, aware the man beside him knew how to annunciate. The old speech curled strangely around his tongue, but he grew oddly at home with it as he continued on. “It met the sword of Ifrit with steep force to smite descending, and in half cut sheer, nor stayed, but with swift wheel reverse, deep entering sheared all his right side; then Ifrit first knew pain.”

Ardyn’s mouth fell into a thin line, although his demeanor told little else. Just when Prompto considered continuing, he was interrupted.

“I am searching for a verse regarding the Founder’s final battle with the Beast,” his guest straightened, but only moved his chair closer to the blond’s and proceeded to lean in again. Prompto didn’t mind.

“In the Great Hall that founds Lucis? With, uh, with the…” the blond was already going through scrolls, looking for the correct translation. The historian leaned in a bit, bringing his mouth a short width away from his ear, lowly muttering “Sceadugenga.” Prompto again tried not to let the shiver that wanted to run down his spine show.

“Yeah, that”, he started, clearing his throat to return with “the monster grim the Draconian himself doomed…” ending with a slight giggle. His companion just smiled coyly back at him, observing approvingly. Landing on a similar passage, Prompto began reading again, his mouth more comfortably forming the aged language.

“Then the demon began to vomit with fire to burn the bright dwellings: the flame-light stood for terror to men: not there aught living the hateful air-flyer was willing to leave. The worm's war-power widely was seen, the hostile one's hate both near and far-” before he could continue, there was a gentle tap to his elbow. Turning to his companion, it was at once he noticed just how much more solemn the older man had grown, gaze distant. Concerned, Prompto opened his mouth to speak when he was again cut off.

“Read me the Banishment.”

The librarian blinked downward, hoping his concern hadn’t been too disruptive, skipping down the scroll. Without waiting, he took in another breath to read. “A Dungeon horrible, on all sides round as one great furnace flamed, yet from those flames no light, but rather darkness visible  
served only to discover sights of woe, regions of sorrow,” his voice weakened with sadness,” doleful shades, where peace and rest can never dwell, hope never comes that comes to all; but torture without end-” With another squeeze to his shoulder, he stopped. The historian beside him, without looking, began to recite.

“Such place Eternal Justice had prepared for those rebellious. Here, their Prison ordained in utter darkness, and their portion set as far removed from Draconian and light of Crystal as from the Center thrice to the utmost Pole,” his tone was as sharp as his speech eloquent, and it occured to the librarian that he could have easily listened to the other read all day. Why did he need him there?

“Should I stop?” Mortification floated over Prompto’s head, and he stared down into his lap.

Before another moment could pass, Ardyn looked back to the young man beside him. Annoyance graced his expression, and the blond thought to shrink a bit in his chair. Catching it, the man softened slightly.

“You read beautifully, my dear,” Ardyn began, smoothing a hand over the other’s back, arm coming to drape gently over Prompto’s shoulders. It should have been comforting, but a consistent nagging remained in the back of his mind. 

“Do continue,” the historian urged, pointing to a new selection of text from a nearby tome.

“Wailings could be heard from either side, and I saw no one who might make them. Bewildered, I stopped. Stretching out my hand a little forward, I plucked a brachlet from a great thorn-bush, and its truck cried out ‘Why dost thou tear me?’ when it had become dark with blood and began to cry,” the blond paused, visibly disturbed. Ardyn again watched the blond expectantly. “Wait, is this… is this the Ifurnian’s Path? I had no idea this and the Banishment were so similar.” 

Ardyn shot Prompto a brief toothy grin, and the blond was reminded of a dog bearing its teeth. The historian directed him to a large tome that Prompto actually had only ever heard of before, consisting only of brilliantly illustrated figures of nonexistent entities, all visualized by a man said to have gone mad while imprisoned centuries ago. The hair on his neck stood on end. 

While the librarian peeled the cover open with care, the man at his side leaned off of his chair to get a better look at the pages. Almost instantaneously, Prompto knew why this was not widely circulated. A few pages in, and the illustrations had turned strangely dark. Robed figures taking the skin off of a skeleton like a costume, strange repetitive imagery of birds in the mouths of birds, anatomical figures of bodies morphing into various beasts and demons. Beneath each illustration was a nonsensical glyph and annotation, in no language that Prompto had ever seen. Coupled with the preceding reading, by that point, the blond was properly unsettled by their findings. Unable to make sense of their connection however, Prompto found himself looking again to his companion, concern clearly marking his features. 

The historian smiled to himself, and the arm across the younger man’s shoulders retreated. Prompto tried not to miss the touch, and took a deep breath, unwilling to turn to another page. “So… what is this?” he questioned, sounding more rattled than he would have liked. Ardyn’s gaze bore down satisfactorily into the illustrations.

“Proof.”

Growing more confused by the moment, Prompto could only blink up at the man, with a softly spoken “... of what?”

The grin returned to the older man’s lips, and the librarian didn’t know whether to be excited or terrified.


	2. II.

“O sun, I tell thee how I hate thy beams, that bring to my remembrance from what state I fell; how glorious once above my sphere,” the older man lilted, swoon pitting inside the other’s chest at the man’s ease of speech. With a new vigor, Ardyn casually leaned back onto Prompto’s chair, pushing aside the disturbing illustrations, and pointed to a new text. This one, the librarian knew. It had been the first one he had managed to read growing up.

“Izdubar and the Red Knight,” Prompto marvelled, realizing then the collection of parchment before him must have been one of the earliest written editions existing in Lucis. Regarding the Founder’s First Shield in his facing off with a great foe and former brother in arms, ending with the Shield’s victory, and the Founder’s ability to receive a glaive made from Meteor from the Astral Titan.

“Read Izdubar’s Recant,” the older man stated, looking far more pleased than he had previously.

Prompto, wishing he had at least some water, cleared his throat yet again. “And Izdubar spoke, ‘hear my cause and be silent, believe me for mine honor. If there be any in assembly, any dear friend of Khumbaba, to them I say that Izdubar’s love to he was no less than his.’ Wait, this is weird. I’ve never heard the Red Knight referred to as ‘Khumbaba’ before. That’s not…” Prompto trailed off, eyes scanning the text to see if he had read it correctly. There was Khumbaba, mentioned throughout the text consistently. It was strange, seeing as how for the life of him, he had never read a version where that name particularly was mentioned. Except for…

Ardyn caught the Prompto’s growing smile of recognition.

“In one of the Founder’s Tales, ‘Khumbaba’ is the monster that nearly destroys the King’s crew on their journey across Lucis, right?” the librarian questioned; the pieces scattered before him slowly forming together.

“‘Et in novissimo suo erit ‘Prompto’ manducare sociis et aliis sunt coram eo, hoc donum tuum erit.’” Ardyn said cheekily, eyes bright, although the blond would not be able to understand the foreboding nature of the reference, before following up with “Yes, and it is also a genus of deamon.”

For ten long years, it was said that the Founder King of Lucis made the first journey from the fallen kingdom of Solheim to what would be Lucis before forging the first Covenant with the Astrals. During that time, it was said that he and his crew suffered many trials and general confusion based on a dread Scourgebeast, borne from the fall of Ifrit. It was one of the more boring epics in Prompto’s opinion, but he had never come to find an untranslated edition, must less read one. But the consistency was strange, and he found himself more determined than ever to discover the full extent of its nature.

“You’ve got to have noticed that is a little weird, right? Is it like that in the original?” Prompto asked, turning from the pages back to his companion. It was then he realized how close their faces were, and how glad he was the man had taken off his hat. Catching the younger man’s gaze, his breath brushed down the neck of the other’s shirt as a smug smirk curled onto his face. 

“That, my dear, is preciously why I am here.” 

With a glint again in his eye, Ardyn looked over to the glass case suggestively.

Suddenly it was much warmer in the room than it had been when they entered, climate control aside.

 

The sound of the lock disengaging clicked in the otherwise silent room. Folding the front hinge down with the utmost care, Prompto tried as desperately as possible not to be his everyday normal self.

That nagging feeling came upon him again, but for the first time a strange new feeling followed it. A buzz of adrenaline, seeping to his core. He wanted so desperately to know.

After making space before them to place the eldest texts, which wasn’t hard considering the size of the table, Prompto nervously looked to his guest. Ardyn looked up from his seat, pleased as ever.

“Do you still need me here?” he stumbled into anxiety like quicksand. “I mean- This research seems pretty important, I can get my supervisor-”

The older man shook his head before he could continue. “Why, ’history is a nightmare from which I am trying to awake’, and your reading voice is so lovely.”

Prompto was so taken by the unexpected reference to another, far more modern, favorite work of his, that he nearly missed the compliment that followed it. “Wait, was that… Iter?” was all about the librarian could make out before falling into a flustered silence. Ardyn nodded.

Iter, a novel from about the start of the Lucian/Niflheim war that detailed life in Duscae, roughly based one of the Founder’s Tales.

Ardyn gazed affectionately at the blond, before casually inquiring “You assume my knowledge to be restricted to works of antiquity?” 

Gold window light filtered across the man’s eyes, and Prompto resisted the urge to kiss him. Instead, somehow managing to find his voice, he returned with “I just, didn’t know royal historians were into more recent stuff.”

The man shrugged coyly, before gesturing the blond back to the case. Resuming their task, Prompto moved to remove the texts from their protective seats.

It felt wrong, disturbing such perfectly arranged museum pieces. Although it had been many years since the room was used for anything other than reading, as Prompto moved the original texts from their place in the case, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the sanctuary that had been standing for so long was being desecrated.

As the librarian worked, the tune the man had begun softly humming earlier sounded again. After several moments of this, the blond could hear his companion softly singing “Where wilt thou go since night draws near, O Infurnian, thou pilgrim dear? Lord, make me happy, be my guest, and in my heart, oh, deign to rest...”

Prompto was again unfamiliar with the song, but moved a bit more deftly to hear the man’s voice. Sensing the younger man, Ardyn stopped, but brightened still. “It is an old hymnal, that time forgot.” Again caught, the librarian blushed deeply, placing the final sheet of parchment before him and getting quickly back to work.

The texts before them wreaked of what the blond could only guess was ancient magic, a crisp smell sourced from cool flame. It figured that the Lucian family would imbue the oldest of their collection with protective spells. They were far better preserved than they had any right to be, all things considered. That being said, they were old. Prompto couldn’t make out a word of it, even the writing far less similar to what he was used to.

The historian gestured to one of the oldest scrolls, which Prompto then brought forward. “Before you is the first recorded telling of the battle against the Sceadugenga, dating one thousand five hundred years ago,” Ardyn began, shifting to lean back over to the blond. Again, said blond hid the way his heart sat higher in his throat. “If you would go ahead in the scroll, my dear, as I don’t want to sully the page with these unclean hands,” and with that, the older man brought an arm to drape back over the blond’s shoulders. Absentmindedly thinking the man’s hands looked fine, Prompto complied.

Upon reaching the point where he was prompted to stop, the librarian sat back in his seat, comfortably leaning back into his companion's grasp. Without pausing, Ardyn began “And Lucis spake ‘O aspiring fool; not to think how vain against the Omnipotent to rise in arms. There be who faith prefer and piety to Bahamut though them to thee not visible.’” Prompto quirked a brow, studying the same space the man read from, unable to recognize anything. In spite of the visual, it was strikingly familiar. Ardyn scanned ahead, holding his free hand just over the text, but never touching it.

Then the historian continued on to a passage Prompto had never heard before.

“So spake the fiend, ‘Accept your Maker’s work; he gave it me which I freely give. Hell shall unfold to entertain you, her widest gates, and send forth all her kings.” The historian seemed to revel in the words for the first time, as if he had spoken them many times before. The other attempted not to gape in awe. “There will be room, not like these narrow limits, to receive your numerous offspring. If no better place, thank him who puts me loath to this revenge on you, who wronged me not, for him who wrong’d.’” At this moment, Ardyn’s gaze caught the blond’s once more, “‘By conquering this new world, compels me now to do, what else, though damned, I should abhor.’” 

Prompto nearly jumped from his seat.

“The beast never spoke before, that reminds me-” Prompto blurted out, before catching himself. Biting his lip, he shrunk back a bit in the other’s arm. Ardyn only smirked, playfully ruffling the blond’s hair. Just as the librarian could let out a soft laugh, he fell into a faint gasp as the older man’s fingers ran through the hair at the back of his head, pulling just faintly. Just as quickly as it happened, it ended, leaving the blond reeling.

“What does it remind you of?” The older man questioned teasingly, keeping a hand on his back, close enough to Prompto’s head that another chill was sent down his spine. He was unable to hide it at this point.

“Well,” his ears burned again, “I’ve read a novel that tells a similar story from the creature’s PoV, but it’s only like… a few decades old.”

In a way that still fascinated the librarian, his companion looked to him in such earnest.

“Do tell.”

So instead of trying to stammer out some sad kind of description, Prompto took in a breath and decided to do what seemed best in that moment. Recalling his favorite passage, the librarian fluttered his gaze away and shut his eyes.

“It’s one thing to listen, full of scorn and doubt, to poets’ versions of time past and visions of time to come, it’s another to know, as coldly and simply as my mother knows her pile of bones, what is…” and before Prompto could continue, Ardyn chimed in. “But there was one thing worse. I discovered that the dragon had put a charm on me: no weapon could rend my flesh.” 

Prompto’s jaw dropped and his first instinct was to ask if his companion had written the book, but he stopped himself. Ardyn didn’t look nearly old enough to have been writing when the book was published. Additionally, the author was said to have died in a motorcycle accident outside of Ravatogh.

All of this didn’t seem to explain the inconsistency Prompto was searching for, however.

“But why do the Banishment of the Beast and the Fall of the Ifrit sound so similar? And why can the beast talk? It’s kind of like… like they changed it.”

Ardyn’s smile could not have possibly grown anymore, and he pointed to a sizable tome, plain, beaten and leatherbound, which the younger man opened reverently. It was dense, and the writing faded; the penmanship changed page by page. Many had disintegrated in places, but otherwise the entirely of the binding was still intact.

“This is the first written collection of the Hymnals of the Infurnian, from the time of The Astral War.” Ardyn stated plainly. Prompto could hardly believe it. He kept his fingertips light on the leatherbound surface, heart pounding. Many of them were scribbled, written by someone having a fit. Whether of inspiration or insanity was in question.

The blond progressively turned the pages until motioned to stop. Pulling out a small notebook from some pocket, and an old fountain pen, the historian jotted down what the librarian soon recognized was a translation. Several moments stretched on and the sound of the pen over paper grew furious. Finishing curtly, Ardyn threw the pen down and leaned into the blond further still, bringing his free hand to Prompto’s knee. Gently, he began to lilt into the younger man’s ear, “because these wings are no longer wings to fly but merely vans to beat the air, the air which is thoroughly small and dryer than the will. Teach us to care and not to care, teach us to sit still.”

With a breath, the man continued “Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death”.

Prompto’s eyes wanted to roll back in his head, and not for the first time did any amount of twitching befall his cock. Before thinking, all the librarian could do was counter “You improve us!” Prompto gasped, feeling like an idiot, “You make us think. You drive us to poetry, science, religion. You are the brute force that… defines us….” He was left biting his lip, close enough to his companion’s face enough to feel his breath, heart strangling up his vocal cords in an attempt to exit his body. Ardyn didn’t wait before taking the younger man’s face in his free hand and chastely kissing him. A longing sigh left out Prompto’s nostrils, and just before the kiss broke did the blond part his lips and inhale deeply. Ardyn took the invitation, running a gentle tongue over the other’s bottom lip. Just as Prompto could try to move further, the man pulled away abruptly.

Returning his grip at the blond’s shoulder, Ardyn pointed to the pages once more. This time, he pointed to the translated hymnal in his notebook, which the younger man picked up, clearing his throat, blood flooding his cheeks and other senses.

“I have no wit, no words, no tears; my heart within me like a stone is numbed too much for hopes or fears…” Prompto’s breath hitched, hand running up his thigh. Trying not to think about the growing erection in his pants, he continued, “Look right, look left, I dwell alone’ I lift mine eyes, but dimmed with grief…” Reminded of the ghastly illustrations from earlier, the shudder that ran through him in response only served to make him harder, gasping recitation “N-no ever-lasting hills I see; My life is in the falling leaf.

O Infurnian, quicken me…”

Prompto was hard in Ardyn’s grasp.

Amber eyes met helpless blue, and the older man laughed to clear his voice. “My life is like a faded leaf, my harvest dwindled to a husk, my life is void and brief and tedious in the barren dusk,” while Ardyn recited, his fingertips came to tease the head of the librarian's cock through his jeans. The hand at his shoulder gripped, and the blond held back a moan, instead emitting a breathless ‘please’. 

Smirking devilishly, Ardyn obliged, undoing the younger man’s pants with ease. Just as he came to free Prompto’s length, he began again, as the blond could only look at him, enraptured. “I will count my numberless blessings one by one,” the historian squeezed, and this time the blond did moan, recognizing the passage. If anyone asked him from that point, he would say that man wrote his favorite book. “My teeth are sound. The roof of my cave is sound....” Ardyn’s voice grew dangerous, “ and I have not committed the ultimate act of nihilism: I have not killed the queen,” and with relish, the man dragged his teeth down the blond’s neck, thumbing the tip of the hardened flesh in his hand, “... yet.”

Prompto gasped, grabbing the man’s arm and leaning into the grip at his shoulder.

Ardyn grinned against the soft earlobe, “love loves to love love.” Fingertips firmly trailed up and down Prompto’s shaft, and the jolt it sent through this system launched him toward his companion. His hands clutched desperately at the historian’s collar, tucking his forehead against a stubbled jawline. Ardyn came to firmly grip the blond’s cock, taking care to pull skin around his coronal ridge. Gasping, Prompto looked desperately up at his companion. Their mouths met again as the motions grew to be rhythmic. The older man did not hold back then, dipping his tongue deeply into the other’s mouth as he moaned.

Of course, the entire wrongness of the situation struck Prompto, but only served to build him up more, to make him harder, and the man beside him only seemed to be able to reach inside of his mind and wrench up all that was buried. 

It was then the hand at his shoulder returned to Prompto’s hair, and pulled. His hips buckled violently, and a yell tore out from his mouth. Erection throbbing in the man’s steady grip, he whimpered, grasping for purchase. Lead by the hair, Prompto found himself being yanked forward, bent over the reading table. Before he could stop himself, ancient parchment flew everywhere. He wanted to gasp, wanted to cry out, panicking at the potential damage, but before he could make any further movement, Prompto found himself pinned down. Ardyn was behind him, dedicated firmness pressing into his backside.

Despite the nagging feeling arising again in the back of the blond’s mind, during the course of the moan that left his lips in that moment, Prompto couldn’t help but press back into the form behind him. The hand on his cock still gripped, and all too quickly did the junior librarian forget the scattered parchment beneath him, hands slipping and scattering the pages further he tried to lean upward. Ardyn leered behind him, pulling the waist of the blond’s pants down.

“Oh gods, yes,” the poor blond breathed, collapsing onto parchment in submission.

Prompto was sure that, at any moment, a whole team of armored guards would burst into the room and stop them. But he could feel a distinctive warm hardness brought to the inside of his ass and thigh, the hand at his cock moved to collect his wrists and bringing them sharply behind his back. Prompto had stopped caring.

As the blond was unable to see the red light that would allow Ardyn to access what otherwise was an impossible bottle of lubricant, the older man chuckled to himself. “Would you care to read any more for me?”

In spite of any and all rational thought, Prompto could only murmur a desperate “yes… yes” in response. As the older man lined up a firm erection against the blond’s opening, he paused. Prompto keened.

“... I’m waiting.”

Gasping, the blond continued, struggling to see the scribbled translation from his position on the table. It was difficult.

“M-my life is like a frozen thing… No bud nor greenness can I see. Yet, rise it shall—the sap of Spring. O Infurian,” Prompto gulped, “… rise in me.”

Just as the young man’s voice trailed off in want, did Ardyn gently press the tip of his cock into the form beneath him, ridge just barely passing into the tense flesh. A groan rocked the chest pressed onto the table. Arms strained against the grasp held around them, and Ardyn progressed slowly deeper. Feeling the stretch, Prompto let out a breathy whine that bled into the next line. “... My life is like a broken bowl, a broken bowl thatcannotholdonedropofwaterformysoulor cordial in the - in the cold,” his cheek fell pressed up hard against the beautiful table as he slipped up, and he basked in the reflection of the constant light from the stained glass display. 

Ardyn continued to gently pump increasingly into Prompto, and the younger man went limp under his grip, pleasure driving him to total distraction. Clearing his throat, he continued in lieu of the blond.

“The day is now far spent and gone; the shades of night come quickly on,” the man thrusted in time as he continued. “Abide with me,” thrusting harder still, “thou heavenly Light... and do not leave me in this night…” and very suddenly, Prompto relaxed, and Ardyn found himself entirely buried inside of the blond up to the base of his cock. It wasn’t long before he was fucking the younger man in earnest, laying waste to the ancient texts with every thrust onto the table. Prompto was helpless, pinned by the girth inside of him and the incredibly firm grip on his wrists. Pressure coaxed his prostate, and want welled up in him. It wasn’t long before he felt he could burst. 

Just as he thought he would, Ardyn stopped, sitting still deeply inside of him. Prompto cried out, arching helplessly into the table, his softened erection just catching the edge, knocking the blood back into it. Just as his voice died, did a violent thrust follow, taking him by surprise. The process repeated again as he cried out, and the blond again considered the skin falling from skeletal forms, the inky illustrations of demons, and moaned both in terror and desire. Coming to find the pull on his wrists stifling suddenly, he struggled. Ardyn laughed, holding firm and quickly returning to pumping mercilessly into the form under him. “Oh, oh gods, please-” Just as Prompto could protest, Ardyn cut him off.

“Enlighten me that from the way that leads to the Astrals I may not stray,” the man’s usual eloquent tone was strained with desire “… that I may never be misled, though night of sin is round me spread,” even the older man’s breath now fell heavily in effort, combed with lust. Prompto’s breath grew increasingly uneven, falling quicker and quicker. He was going to come.

Struggling still, he managed to gasp, “Cast in the fire the … cursed thing, melt and remold it, until it… until it be a royal cup for… for… for Him… my King.” The blond’s breath hitched, orgasm rising up out of him.

“Oh, Infurnian…. drink of me.”

And with that Prompto came, sputtering out over the table and below, final vowel falling into a sweet groan. The grip at his wrists let go, coming to rest at his hips as Ardyn continued to thrust relentlessly, leaving the blond sighing beneath him with increasing agony. Darkly, the man continued.

“And when I on my death-bed lie, help me that I in peace may die. Abide!” Fingers gripped into the bare hips, and Prompto felt the man lean over him. A hand threaded itself back into his hair, pulling his head back roughly. Ardyn brought his mouth to the blond’s ear, voice dropping lower still.

“I will not let thee go, thou wilt not leave me. This, I know.”

Ardyn came inside of Prompto with a deep groan as the blond cried out.

-

Prompto Argentum languidly looked at his favorite architecture book, heavy beat playing over his ear buds as he worked. He had clocked in late to work, and it had been a busy day. Or had it? He peered around, half expecting someone to surprise him. Other than having the most intense daydream about a sexy historian and conspiracy theories, the junior librarian had been pretty engrossed in his work. Right?

…. Right?

Just when Prompto tried to recall a face with the red hair and hat, Noctis swung around the corner with a causal “hey”, and Prompto jumped out of his skin. Finding the blond crashed onto a pile of books, the Prince let out a laugh.

“Jeez, bro, are you trying to kill me?” Holding his heart, his best friend offered out a hand and Prompto picked himself back up. Of course, this was who he had been expecting. 

“Your shift over?” the Prince questioned, checking his phone. “About, wanna grab a burger?” Prompto asked, beyond starving and parched, even though had he ate like, two hours prior.

“Won't that kill you faster?”

Prompto batted at Noctis’ arm, shooting his friend a playful pout before crouching down to collect the books he knocked over.

Deja vu briefly washed over him, but he shrugged it off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> The butchered Latin from earlier in the chapter reads:
> 
> "I'll eat your friends first before I eat you, this is my gift"
> 
> Should you know what that is from or a better translation, please let me know!


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